Quite an odd encouncter with Mycroft Holmes
by Fuchsfeuer
Summary: Greg is quite astonished to find Mycroft Holmes of all people sitting in his office. As it turns out he is questioning him 'concerning his motives towards Dr. Watson'. Is this really the only reason the younger man wants to talk to him, and what about the strange text message Greg finds, after lending Mycroft his phone. Post Reichenbach/ rated M for later chapters / Mystrade
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So this is a new fanfiction, that was stuck in my Head forever.

This will be a Mystrade fanfiction with little hint on Johnlock, which means it will be Slash/Yaoi/Male on Male (or whatever you will call it)

I'm not sure how far I will take this but this will be rated M.

I hope you will enjoy this, and if there are any major mistakes feel free to tell me. I'm not a native speaker after all and am glad to improve.

* * *

He frankly stared at it. The small, roundish, white object just lay there and he was sure not to get any kind of answer from it. Neither had he expected the man opposite to him to give him further explanations.

This was Mycroft Holmes after all so he must have missed something that would clarify why the younger man sat here in his office, a few minutes before end of his shift, extending his hand and seemingly offering him some kind of pill, without a word, well without a word of explanation as to why he would offer it.

"I'm sorry?" He most probably looked pretty unattractive right now, not that he cared, his mouth slightly open and eyes wandering from the hand that was holding the tablet to its owner.

"An analgesic."

Oh, of course that changed the whole thing!

An analgesic, how couldn't he have thought of that?

Since it was an everyday occurrence to have a man that he practically didn't know, who the first time he met him kidnapped him to ask him about _motives concerning_ his brother, making him feel like a pervert who wanted to lay hands on a minor, sitting in his office and offering him a, well an analgesic, after again questioning him _concerning his motives_ towards another man.

"Sorry..?" He felt quite dumb for asking again, but today was one of those days when one was pretty sure to have stayed in bed would have been a better idea.

"I thought it to be apposite to offer you a, how would you phrase it, a pain killer, since I am obviously the reason to your headache."

The smooth voice was as charming as ever, but he could not help but quite literally cringe since he knew no matter how nicely put it was, there was a condescending attitude along those words, not even he, who so apparently missed the obvious again, could help but notice.

His mood was getting the better of him and he could feel the headache, the other so casually talked about, increase.

"You cannot be serious!"

The other looked rather astonished at his choice of words, and it was for the first time he could see the polite smile gracing the younger man's featured falter, although it was only for mere seconds.

"I assure you, I am quite serious. Otherwise I would not sit here, when there are other things to be taken care of."

Greg gave a dismissing gesture to that. He wouldn't be the one to hinder the other of whatever 'things' he deemed to be important.

"Go on", 'there is the door' he added mentally.

Mycroft's smile returned.

"Oh, Detective Inspector Lestrade, I meant not to offend you. I merely emphasized my sincerity in this matter."

The older of the two managed a dry smile.

"And of what are you so sincere? Of offering me _a pain killer_, when you know you are the reason for my headache and most probably already knew you were going to cause it before you even set foot into the yard, or of asking me if I had any immoral intentions_ concerning _your _dead_ brother's flat mate?"

"Oh I never thought it to be immoral intentions, dear Detective Inspector." He could see a glint of contentment in the other man's eyes and I didn't help him maintain his last bit of reservation. Mycroft simply lowered his gaze to fidget with his umbrella. He would have thought it to be a hint betraying the other man's nervousness, but the small smile, or rather the small movement of his mouth, showed that the older Holmes brother merely tried to cover his amusement. At least it was what Greg thought it to be.

"Ok, but still I don't see why you would care, even if you would have thought it to be immoral intentions. I don't see the whole point of this" he waved his hand around and let out a sigh. "John Watson is a grown man, who can most probably decide if he would agree with any immoral offers I would make. And don't give me that I worry shit! Your brother won't be there to care, will he?"

He knew he was being unfair now. First of all he could imagine the other to be quite affected by his younger brother's sudden death, and deep inside of him he was aware of the fact that the other was being awfully kind to him, well kind in a holmsish way, since he hadn't insulted his intellect, even though spending at least five minute watching him opening and closing his mouth again while starring at a white pill.

Also he didn't seem to hold any kind of grudge against him, although he was the one to step in his younger brother's back.

Little did he know that the other was the last to be angry about that, but he was actually rather happy not to have to talk about it, since even though he had been through this at least a thousand times with both Anderson and Sally, he couldn't change the fact he had a bad conscience.

"Detective Inspector, I would ask you to mind your language, and I am sorry to disappoint you, but it is a matter to me because I care. Dr. John Watson after all was the reason why my brother was let's say tempered, as tempered as Sherlock Holmes could ever be; also he has successfully hindered my dear brother from falling back to old habits of drug misuse and also most probably from killing himself by this means.

Not that it had stopped the younger Holmes from committing suicide in the end.

"And that is the reason to question me, no interrogate me, about my relationship with him? He was awfully tired and his rage subsided rather fast. The loss of sleep finally did get him.

"Yes, since I would like to learn, if you do intend to broaden that relationship. I would not want anybody, let us say, inapt to get too close to the doctor, after all he still knows rather much a detail about things he should not."

"Don't tell me you fancy him yourself", he laughed at the thought.

Mycroft seemed rather taken aback, although not in any way, that suggested Lestrade's absurd idea was anywhere near the truth, just mildly affronted.

"I assure you, if I would take any interest in the Doctor I would make my proposals and if he were to say no, I would not care if he decided to enter a relationship with you."

"Holy… ", he couldn't control his laughter. He was not sure if it was one of those infamous situations, when people couldn't handle a situation and began to laugh hysterically, the lack of sleeo or if it was just genuinely funny.

The whole happening was just absurd.

"Proposals ? You sound like you want to marry him."

Mycroft watched him. No emotions were to be seen on his face, although his eyes again lowered to his umbrella. This time it was sure out to embarrassment. But Greg was too much of a versed policemen to not know that I was still not because the other man was embarrassed about his choice of words, but embarrassed with the fact, that the younger was making a fool of himself.

Greg cleared his throat, he could not go on laughing, this was a powerful man in front of him, he shouldn't forget. He took a few calming breaths.

"Ok, so how did ever you, seriously, think of the concept of me and John Watson shagging?"

"Oh it was rather standing to reason, although, I would have never phrased it like _this_.

You are recently divorced, with an unfaithful wife, one might add, hence any experimental interactions would be rather likely, if it was only to take vengeance on her. This and the fact, that in you had quite a few number of homoerotic encounters in your youth, so you would not be indisposed to any such occurrences. Also you have seen Doctor Watson on a rather frequent basis, lately.

Greg just stared at the man in front of him.

"Truth be told, I have no idea where to start, answering to that."

He defiantly was not lying. Only a Holmes could come up with such a theory. Brilliant as they seemed most of the time, this was wrong on so many levels!

"I don't know where the fuck you learned about my youth, for the moment I'm just going to pretend that I'm not totally creeped out by that, but since when is it a crime for two blokes to meet a few times a week and have a pint or two? And although it is quite hard to admit, and believe me, Mr. Homes, you are the last person I considered talking to about my problems, but it is a fact that neither of us have many friends to relate to at the moment.

John has nobody, since you know, what Sherlock is, was like, so there was little time for him to meet other people, and with me it is quite frankly that all our friends seemed to believe I was the big bad guy that drove my wife into the arms of another. So to tell the truth it is only natural for us to meet on a _frequent basis_", he mocked Mycroft's last words and was surprised how fast his anger reappeared. Glaring crossly at the other, he sat back in his chair.

Mycroft seemed to study him for a few seconds, then decided to be pleased by this aswer.

"Well. If this is the case, I might just ask one last favor of you, if you are so kind."

"Yes?" he bit out. He would do anything to make this man leave as soon as possible.

"Would you lend me your phone?"

Greg gestured to the phone standing directly in front of the older Holmes.

"Oh no, I meant your mobile phone."

"Sure." He sighed. I couldn't be worse than having the other stay any longer.

When Mycroft gave him a last polite smile, before leaving his office, he let himself fall back into his chair.

Oh how he loved the Holmeses, always nice and easy to work with.

He slid his mobile open, and looked through the text/sent section.

It plainly said:

Cleared. Do not make me reiterate this.

MH

Quickly he checked his inbox. He was rather interested how an answer to that might look like.

He was quite surprised to actually find an answer.

Why wouldn't the other person send their text to Mycroft's phone?

Oh, come on.

It was like a piece of cake to you, wasn't it?

Bee

He just stared at the screen. Bee? Who on earth would chose this kind of code name?

And what was the cake to mean. Did, whoever wrote this text, want to express that it was no big deal for Mycroft anyway.

No, that couldn't be the only meaning of the message. Not with Mycroft Holmes.

Cake… Cake was nice after all. Did this stranger imply that Mycroft Holmes had enjoyed this?

But what was _this_, anyway? Did he enjoy asking him, since he liked to cause him trouble, or because he did care for John, or because he was interested in either of them?

Or was it just because he simply liked to make an impression?

His fingers drummed on his desk in anticipation, deeply ravished in though. The sound of a small object clattering as he did so, made him look up. Then he saw it.

Ok, now he was quite sure it must have been his last theory that explained the text. There it was, lying innocently in the middle of his desk.

A small, white pill!

He jumped up and stared at it, as if it would disappear if he only stared hardly enough.

Sod it, he took the pill, gulped it down without any water, took his jacked and keys and headed for the door.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey, so this little story goes on.

I'm not quite sure it this could already be categorized as angsty, but there is a bit a sad tone to this chapter.

There's also a bit of John, and although this is most prominetly a Mystrade Fanfiction there will often be some parts including him or/and Sherlock from now on.. since come on, it is no fun writing about Mycroft and Greg without sane people around to give them funny looks or Sherlock poking fun at his brother

This chapter is also quite a bit shorter, I guess the other will be something in between the first 2 Chapters

I hope you enjoy it nonetheless ;D

and happy Easter... It's quite cold in Germany now, well at least doesn't snow right now

* * *

When he entered the pub, John was already seated at their usual spot near the bar and apparently not quite as sober anymore.

"Ev'ning", he muttered while sitting down next the smaller man.

John looked up, smiled dryly, then took a deep swig and lowered the empty glass.

"Hey." The blonde said all while looking less than enthusiastic.

"Bad day... at work?"

The other nodded only and deemed the bottom of his glass more interesting.

Greg was not sure he wanted to know, how many glasses of whatsoever John had already had had. He hadn't had wanted to tell Mycroft, but he was quite concerned with John behavior since Sherlock's suicide.

The younger might have gone for a pint or two on a regular basis, mostly with Standfort, sometimes with him , but John's intake of alcohol had increased quite dramatically.

"Everything alright with you?" That should have been Greg's question to ask, but he had made a habit of not talking about their encounters. It was not that he didn't care. It was just that he didn't know what to say. He and John had never been too close, even though they had always acted on a friendly basis. But that did most certainly not qualify him as the great savior, not with his own life being as fucked up as it was.

Greg considered to lie to John, but couldn't bring himself to do that, and besides there weren't quite as many people he could talk to about what had taken place this afternoon.

"Well, not quite. Mycroft decided to pay me a visit. Seems something gave him the idea, the two of us were a bit closer than mates."

Greg could see it took John a few seconds to register what he had been told, then a disbelieving expression took hold of the younger man's features, his mouth forming a perfect O.

" 'xcuce me?"

"You got that quite right. I spent the afternoon with Mycroft Holmes sitting in my office, asking me if I was shagging you. "

John giggled at first, but Greg's horrid expression must have shut him up, since, suddenly all sobered, he straightened a bit and Greg told him the whole story.

"Bloody h…what gives him that idea?"

"I don't know, apparently it was quite obvious to him, though."

"Right, since we're totally at it."

John's mouth twitched, but he was quite sure, John was just annoyed with this idea, as him.

It wasn't that he was offended, when someone thought he was with another man, no, Mycroft himself had quite clearly stated, that he might not be quite as adverse to that notion, but the fact that the older Holmes dared to interfere with their private lives so severely.

Before, both of them had dismissed it as the eccentric behavior of an older brother wanting to take care of his younger sibling.

It seemed the three of them had come to the agreement that Sherlock was indeed to be taken care of sometimes, for his own sake and the sake of many others.

Greg had had his second pint and watched John who still held the glass he emptied when Greg had entered.

He seemed lost in thought and Greg was quite happy with that, since he had also quite a few things on his mind.

"You he wanted to use your phone?"

"Yes although I'm not quite sure, what this text is all about."

John eyed him a stern look on his face.

It didn't seem to make any more sense to him, than to Greg and he was not sure if he liked it better this way.

The ex-army doctor shook his head dismissingly, as if he had decided that it was not worth the effort. Must have had something to do with being used to the Holmeses.

"So do you think he will keep an eye on us or anything?" Greg did really worry for this privacy. He knew Mycroft Holmes was practically capable of getting any kind of information he wanted.

"I'm not quite sure. You said he seemed quite content when he left."

"Well as content you would see a Holmes."

"Mycroft."

"Sorry?"

"I said it's only just Mycroft, who never does it, show emotion. Sherlock was quite strong at expressing joy, when no-one was around of course, all his boastful self."

The younger man's face had become wooden, and he chewed the inner side of his lip.

Greg could feel a rush of pity overwhelm him, but he knew that that was the last thing the blonde needed now.

"Oh", he managed.

For a few minutes they sat in silence.

After Greg had emptied his drink, they got up and awkwardly said their goodbyes.

He took a deep calming breath, when he stepped outside to the chilly night's air. He was really tired, but he had not wanted to turn John down.

He also felt the strong urge to smoke, but repeated his mantra not to give in now. He had gotten over the time he and his wife had split up, without a single drag.

He wouldn't give in to his need, just because Mycroft Holmes decided to mess with him now.

His mind wandered back to John anxious face.

It had been half a year since Sherlock's death, and even though John might have never admitted it, the younger man seemed quite heart broken.

Greg sighed. Well, probably he smaller man was just a truly loyal fellow. Something, which his friends were most definitely not.

It was not that he didn't like the blonde, but he knew full well he was just a mean to ease the loneliness, not that that didn't apply vice versa.

If he had seen correctly John had even began to limp again, if only a bit.

It seemed only natural though. It might have been quite a shock, to see you best friend jump off a building.

He had made a good part of his way home and was really seeing forward to feel soft pillows beneath him, when he quite suddenly became aware of a security camera on a building next to him.

I might have always been there, without him noticing, but the concerns form earlier this evening reoccurred to him.

Then he dismissed the thought again. It was really foolish to think Mycroft Holmes might go so far in keeping an eye on him. He was quite sure, apart from his seemingly quite interesting encounters with John; there was not much that qualified him to be interesting enough for someone who was basically the British Government.

I spared the camera on last skeptical glance then moved on yearning for his bed.

What he never saw was the security camera moving back to its usual position and quite a desperate Mycroft Holmes eying the screen of his expensive Laptop.

"Well look at what you've done" the older Holmes scolded himself, decided to shut the computer off and also head for bed.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N:

Hmm, so there is not much action in this chapter, but I kind of like it that way, although I don't imagine Greg to be a person to ponder very much.

There is also John again, I can't help it but he is such a tragic character at the moment, and I like the Idea of John and Greg being a tad closer, after Sherlock's 'death'.

Also I wasn't really sure about the jogging thing. Since Greg's job is obviously very time cosuming, and he has most probably not that much time for things as this, on the other hand he likes to go jogging (or/and playing football ;D).

I like the idea of him enjoying sports and being rather fit, but not overly so. In my opinion it fits the character better, than making him any kind of adonis :D

Oh and I noticed in the first chapter, that it wouldn show the text messages would not be marked properly, I actually wanted to put it in '...' but it didn't work while just copying and pasting, so I made sure it was better in this one

* * *

When he woke, he felt the sting of a headache and for a moment he considered , if he had had too much of a drink the day before.

But then he remembered the awkward encounter with Mycroft and his conversation with John later that evening.

Two pints could hardly be enough to cause such a headache.

He could feel his shoulders and neck being tense and a glance towards his alarm clock told him it was only just past 9 am.

Normally he would think it to be rather late, but since he hadn't had much of a good night's sleep lately, he could really do with a few more hours of it.

It was his day off anyway.

He fell back into his pillows and closed his eyes again, trying to will himself to sleep.

This night hadn't been any better.

Briefly he could remember strange, but vivid dreams and the face of Mycroft Holmes sparing him on of his condescending smiles.

He could feel goose bumps forming on his whole body and his heart rate quickening.

His eyes sprang open again, and he tried to ban the image from his mind.

Frowning he sat up his hands massaging the bridge of his nose.

Well this was strange.

He was quite sure it hadn't been an all too pleasant dream yet it didn't seem to have been a nightmare.

The Detective shortly even considered if he had had any kind of erotic dream of the older Holmes brother, but he was sure that he would remember _that_, even though his reaction was really strange.

His lips formed a thin line, while admitting the older Holmes had accomplished what he had wanted : To intimidate him, although he could still not make any sense of the conversation at all.

He had rather casually accused the younger man of fancying John, but he was quite sure, that the red head was more than capable of asking a person out, if he really considered them to be worth the effort.

Mycroft Holmes might not have been the most outgoing person he knew, but he was still miles away from being as antisocial as his brother had been.

And what he lacked of social skills he made up with this beaming complacency Greg was so irritated with.

He was used to working with people that were full of themselves, but the Holmes brothers brought it to a whole new level, and while Sherlock had certainly not been any better, he had at least shown his attitude towards other people openly, while Mycroft hid all behind his fake smile and polite mannerism.

Also he had a feeling that Sherlock's rudeness was always a kind of self-protection.

When they had been investigating the series of 'pretense suicides' or 'A Study in Pink' as John had later so fittingly titled he had told the younger Holmes that he had to act like he did, since he was dealing with a child, he had meant it.

There were times he had felt he was more of a desperate father dealing with a son that had just hit puberty, than a Detective in his late forties seeking help from the world's only Consulting Detective.

If the other had ever been a Consulting Detective.

Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure of how much Sherlock had told him about Mycroft was true.

He was relatively certain that the older Holmes was a powerful man, with or without a genius brother and he seemed as intelligent as Sherlock had always depicted him.

But if the other man was really as powerful as to being in charge of secret service or CIA in any way, was to be doubted.

It might also only been the exaggeration of a sociopathic man trying to get attention.

Greg frowned.

He hated to think such of the brunette, but the way things were now, there was no way around it.

He finally got himself to get up.

There was no use in trying to sleep anyways.

He made his way to the kitchen and switched on the old coffee machine.

They had had a brand new one. His wife had insisted that it was absolutely vital, to have that kind of luxury, so he had spent 600 Pounds on that bloody thing.

Well guess who took it with him.

He sighed and sat down at the kitchen table.

Couldn't there be any kind of good news for a change. He was not the kind of person to complain all the time, but it definitively took some fucked up stuff to ponder that much.

He might not be dense or particularly uneducated, but he was more of a man of action, heaving thinking he would readily leave to people such as Mycroft.

After he had had his cup of what might have been considered as coffee, he got up from the kitchen table and glimpse outside the living room's window told him it was rather nice weather outside.

It might not have been awfully warm, but sun was shining and he decided to go for a jog, which would hopefully help him to get this mess in his head sorted out.

A few minutes a quick wash later; he got out of the front door and began to jog in a moderate pace.

It wasn't often he had time for this, even though he wished for it, since it always helped him to sort things out. Unfortunately his shifts at the yards often wouldn't leave too much room for it.

It was actually a quite nice day. The the weather was nice, and the early spring sun had made its first attempts in warming the cold air of London.

He ran past a little café where he often stopped to get his morning coffee before he headed for the yard and decided to get breakfast on his way back.

While contemplating if he wanted to get a cinnamon roll, he accidently bumped into a young man, with ginger hair, probably about his height.

"I'm sorry I didn't watch where I was going."

"It's okay", the younger answered briskly.

Greg noticed the other tried to avoid making eye contact, which he thought not overly strannge, since he was a stranger after all, so he picked up his speed again, after the young man had hurried away.

'Must have had something important to do or something', he reasoned as he went on.

On his way home he actually stopped at the café and got two cinnamon rolls and a coffee, which of course tasted way better than the brew he had made at home.

He put both the paper bag with the sugary treats and the coffee on the coffee table then went to take a shower.

He felt the hot water spray unto his head down his body.

The last bit of tension in his shoulders, that the jogging hadn't affected, eased now, and when he finally, after taking quite a bit of time, he opened the shower and stepped out to dry himself and wrap himself in his morning gown, he was deeply relaxed, that was except for his rumbling stomach.

So he made his way to the couch and switched on the telly, while unwrapping his breakfast.

That was when his mobile went off.

He angrily stared it, hoping it would stop, if he only did stare hard enough.

Eventually it did and he just wanted to take his first bite, when he noticed, that it had been a text, not a call.

'If it is Anderson, I swear I'm gonna kill him', he thought, nonetheless he put down his breakfast sighing and flicked his mobile open.

Hey, Greg, sorry for bothering you on your day off, but I need to talk to someone. John

That didn't sound well, not at all.

He dialed John's number quickly and was relieved when the other picked up.

"Everything alright?"

"Yes, Greg, I just, can we meet at the Chinese restaurant in half an hour? I'll tell you then."

The younger man sounded agitated and Greg didn't hesitate for a moment.

"Okay, see you then."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N:

So now you will learn what has caused John to be so distressed

There will be some secent swearing, I hope you don't mind, but then augain this is rated M anyway

* * *

Greg tried his best to get to the restaurant as early as possible, although he knew John wouldn't probably be there much earlier.

So he practically threw some clothes on and ran downstairs to get a taxi.

The cap driver was giving him a funny look as he hauled the man to hurry up.

Well no-one could be cross with him for that. He wasn't being nice at all.

He gave the other man some money and jumped out of the car.

He glanced at his watch, which said it had took him 25 minutes to get there, which was actually pretty fast, after all this was London.

The shorter man looked up from his early lunch, when Greg formally stormed the restaurant.

From the look of it, John hadn't touched his meal at all.

He looked anxious and Greg had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, when he finally sat down.

"Hey."

"Hey", the blonde replied.

He looked at the younger man, not wanting to rush him, but he really wanted to know what the pressing matter was.

"I just saw Mycroft."

All Greg could offer was a snort.

Nonetheless he looked at John to go on.

"He...told me that Sherlock wasn't dead. That he just faked his suicide."

There was a pause, and Greg could see a great span of emotion flicker on the doctor's features.

He seemed sad, confuse and if the DI did read the purse of Johns lips correctly, he wasn't just a tad annoyed.

"I know he can be...wait a minute...what did you just say?"

"I said, he told me...Sherlock...was not..."

John's voice gave out and all Greg managed was to stare at him open mouthed.

In retrospective he must have looked a lot like the day before, when Mycroft had been talking to him, but that was the last thing he cared about right now.

"But...how?"

John bit his lip looking down on his plate.

Greg followed his gaze and saw the blonde had brutally smashed the food.

"I have no..."

John's voice was barely a whisper.

"No idea."

"Are you sure you got that right? I mean, they buried him and everything."

Somehow Greg felt a pang of panic spring and he hated himself for being afraid of Sherlock being alive.

The look John gave him in response was so hostile Greg considered for a few second if the other somehow miraculously had guessed his thoughts.

"Yes I am sure."

The words were pressed with utter stress and reminded him of shots and ironically Greg kind of felt like he was in the field of fire right at the moment.

"And I know I stood at his grave, and I took his pulse when he lay there, blood oozing out of his head.

But Mycroft was at my flat telling me casually, that Sherlock wasn't dead. The he faked it in order to get rid of Moriarty's henchmen."

He wasn't quite sure what to make of John's tone. But he didn't seem fully convinced himself.

"I...I really don't know what to say."

"Greg, can it be? Can he...?"

Greg had to think for a moment.

"I guess if his brother says so. I do not see why he should lie.

Holy fucking shit", he added under his breath.

"I just don't see why he couldn't tell me himself."

Greg looked at the other full of pity.

That must have been really be hard, having to be told by Sherlock's older brother.

But that was just like the older Holmes.

Sherlock was probably still away but it was possible he would return soon, and being a manipulating arsehole Mycroft wouldn't leave it to Sherlock, thinking it would be better if John would learn it this way.

On the other hand, to be fair, Sherlock would probably too overjoyed with his task at hand to even consider contacting John. Or he would wait for the perfect moment to tell everybody.

"I don't know. He does probably not know yet and Mycroft just spoiled Sherlock's great entrance."

John gave a mirthless laugh to that, but did not meet Greg's eye.

"I'm just afraid. I guess I think Mycroft is playing some kind of game."

"He isn't. He may be a bastard, but he would not do something like this. It would be too much wasted energy."

Now John looked up and Greg gave him a wink.

The blonde smiled goodheartedly.

"Fucking dick."

Greg looked quite put off, but John just shrugged.

"I mean Sherlock. He's a dick. He could have told me, might have as well taken a gun and shot me."

"So what are you going to do when you see him?"

It was all so surreal. They were discussing John and Sherlock meeting, while he had arrived at the restaurant believing the other was dead, in fact believing so for half a year and yet it seemed so simple to just trust that it would all make sense the moment Sherlock would explain.

There was the guilt still, though. The other would be really cross. And he had every right to. Greg had betrayed him, had stepped in his back, because of Sally Donovan and Anderson.

Good god, what had come over him?

"Make him wish it was Moriarty who killed him."

Greg grinned and searched for the humor in Johns eyes, but there was none.

And suddenly John broke.

And all the DI could do was staring shocked at the Doctor as tears rolled down his face and the other sobbing heartbreakingly.

"John, mate." He awkwardly tried to put a hand on the smaller man's shoulders, but the other wouldn't let him.

"That fucking prick. Oh, if he dares come face to face with me, I will take his fucking harpoon and shove it up his arse."

John had buried his face in his hands and was shaking violently.

A few people gave him disapproving looks others just openly gaped at him and Greg was at a total loss at what to do.

"John it's alright." He was really shit at this.

Of course it didn't do anything in helping the blonde.

By now basically everyone in the restaurant had turned to their table.

The older gave them an apologetic look.

He felt very sorry for the man in front of him and couldn't believe he could have been so selfish as to worry about Sherlock being cross with him.

It must have eaten away the younger for quite some time, by the look of it.

Greg and John had seemed to share their idea of showing emotions or rather not showing them and by that he didn't mean any dumb poems for Johns girlfriends or telling a friend when they were angry with him.

But deeper emotions, well lets' say, it took him some time to come to cope with his divorce, and if it hadn't been for Sherlock, he might have never took that last step, believing they could have worked it out.

His hand was now resting on John back, as much as possible with the table in between them.

And John let him. All he would do is sob, a little more quietly now.

After a few minutes of weeping John seemed to get himself together again, since he looked up at Greg, looking rather embarrassed and tired.

"I'm sorry", he muttered.

"It's alright." Greg gave him a half smile.

"Well, I guess I should probably go now. Thanks for … everything."

"You…don't have to."

"Yeah, I know, but I should probably be going and get a grip on myself."

And with these words the doctor stood up awkwardly waved him goodbye, leaving behind an overwhelmed Greg.

Fuck! That had not gone well. The blonde had literally fled and Greg had let him go.

Now he had not only a bad conscience because of Sherlock, but also for letting John leaf on his own and in this condition.

Nonetheless he ordered something to eat, if only to distract himnself, and ignored the funny look the waitress was giving him.

He had not eaten anything yet and he would not care to be embarrassed with what had happened.

He could not tell John it was okay and than be ashamed of John trusting him enough to let his defences drop in front of him, even though not fully intended.

About half an hour later, Greg left the establishment sighing with both relief due to his hunger being stilled and gloom due to wondering how John would fare.

He just wanted to cross the street, when the black Jaguar caught his eye.

Without a second thought a marched towards the car and began furiously kicking it.

* * *

Hey, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

I decided to put most of my notes here, since I wouldn't want to spoil anything.

It was rather hard to write the conversation, since I tried make John and Greg be in character, but also I had to fit to the story.

I kind of got the idea of John breaking down, while watching 'the Reichenbachfall'

I loved the way even the camera wouldn't show his face directly when he kind of sobbed standing at Sherlocks grave and all you could see was his reflection in the polished gravestone

Also I guess if John doesn't talk about it, there is no way around about something like this happening. (I can clearly see why his therapy did not work too well)

I kind of liked the idea of Greg being all awkward abouth the situation, since they are actually not that close, but initially he is the only one for John to talk with about Sherlock.

Oh and thnx to KayelleJohnlock for giving me my first review :D (making me feel like I'm not talking to myself here xD)


	5. Chapter 5

A/N:

So poor old Mycroft has to explain what he did.

I really like their conversations and it's always fun to write.

* * *

Of course that wouldn't work for long, and just a few kicks later he found himself in the grip of the car's driver his hand held behind back, securely put away from the car.

"Let go, you sun of a bi-"

"Andrew, let him go, it's okay."

When he looked up he saw Mycroft had emerged from his car his umbrella at hand.

The man that had been holding him let go directly and all Greg could do, was glaring at the taller man in front of him.

"Please Detective Inspector there is no need to be so upset.

"Like hell there is. I had John Watson breaking down in front of me, because you insensitive bastard had not the tact, to let Sherlock do it. As is should have been."

Mycroft's face gave no sign of consideration away. He could only see fine eyebrows twitch, other than that, the younger did not react at all.

"So you aren't even going to say anything to that?"

Piercing blue eyes lowered and Mycroft began fidgeting with his umbrella again.

"I'm waiting."

It took all his will power not to leash forward. Greg might have been a bit hot headed lately, but he was by no mean an idiot and he knew he would feel the iron grip of the driver as soon as he tried so much as to physically harm Mycroft.

" I … can assure you, dear Detective Inspector, that it was neither my intention to upset John, nor to tell him on this way. I was asked to inform … him by my brother."

Greg snorted and he could see Mycroft watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"I am quite sure he did, but you of all people should have known better. "

"And why is that. As you might have known neither Sherlock nor me are overly fond of emotions."

He frowned. It was really no news to him, that both Holmes were not the very sentimental type, but he had always assumed Mycroft to be the one, who could if not understand other peoples' feelings at least mimic them, deduce what was the right thing to do.

Sherlock might have also known how to do it, but he never cared to do it, because it was 'wasted effort.'

Mycroft on the other hand made a living out of it. Well partly at least.

"I thought you might be smart enough to know how to do better."

He could see a smile ghost the younger man's lips.

Merely a few seconds, then it was gone and the other met his eyes again.

"I did as my brother wished me to. I will not interfere with his relationship to John, and if he might think I was the one to decide to tell him that way, all the better for him and for Sherlock.

You see, I think the truth is Sherlock was afraid to meet him, out of the blue, afraid to be pushed away. He might not seem to be capable of emotion, but that link towards Dr. Watson is an unusually strong one.

I never seen him form such a strong bound with anybody, safe our father probably."

Greg had listened intently. He would have never expected the other to justify his action let alone tell him something as private.

"But these are no matters to be discussed in public, would you care for a lift?"

"Sure", ha answered and the driver who was apparently named Andrew got around him to open the door in front of him.

He got inside and was surprised not to be met with the sight of Mycroft ever typing assistant.

Normally she was always with him, but she was nowhere to be found.

When he was seated inside he waited for Mycroft to take his seat next to him.

How he wished the other would go on with his explanations.

For a few bitter seconds he was actually quite disappointed that his rage towards the other seemed to vanquish so quickly every time he was sure the younger had done something that quite cleary justified giving him a good kick to his crotch area.

Said man signaled the driver to move off then finally turned his gaze towards Greg.

The older, who hadn't until just now noticed that he had never been as close to Mycroft before, gave the other an uncomfortable grimace.

"So you were…eh...explaining why you put John through all this shit."

The auburn haired man next to him seemed to wince, but did not comment on Greg's language anymore.

"Yes, I was, Detective Inspector.

Well where was I? Ah, yes, my brother was afraid to meet John. I am not quite sure as to why, because even though I do understand basic human emotions better than my dear brother, but Sherlock might be what one would call an exception of the rule.

However my dear brother came to me with the petition that I would tell his friend, since he was sure he was to return rather soon and that there was no danger for the Doctor to be expected anymore.

In fact I asked him, if he didn't wish to inform personally, but he declined.

He seems to think it better this way, told me, that on this way John would know the truth earlier and that he would have time to calm down, before meeting Sherlock, although I think his bad conscience might also be accounted to this modus operandi."

"So basically Sherlock is a fucking coward."

Again the younger cringed, but gave him an almost said smile.

"Please don't forget that this whole friendship was quite new to him and while there might have been times when they acted as if they had known each other for years, Sherlock still isn't used to having someone to care about as much.

The Holmeses seem to have a weakness at working with people they are fond of", he added under his breath and Greg frowned.

"But isn't he quite well affectionate with Mrs. Hudson."

"Well I agree on that, but the love one might share with a motherly figure is something he knows, the love he feels for John however…"

"Wait, what, love?! Are you seriously suggesting that…?"

"Oh no, dear Inspector, not in the same fashion as you might think. My darling brother does not seem to be let us say inclined to participate in any physical relations with other people.

What he feels for John Watson might be the closest to the notion of love you have in mind, that he is capable of, yet it is nothing near it."

Greg was not sure if he wanted to know that much, but now that he thought about it, it had always seemed natural to him, that Sherlock was not interested in anybody.

While the Yarders might have been whispering about the younger Holmes and the armee doctor, he had never believed in any of those quite creative speculations.

Sherlock's and John's relationship had simply been different.

"And what about you?"

The question had passed Greg's lips before he had time to register it's meaning, and when he did, his eyes widened in shock.

Mycroft seemed frankly taken aback, then lowered his gaze onto his hands, for once not finding is umbrella, his mask already drawn up again.

"I am different from my brother. In many ways, although to answer your question, I do sometimes enjoy the company of another person.

Nonetheless you might have noticed that my emotional levels also differ from that of average people."

Greg had not expected to get an answer at all and although he knew it was quite foolish to do so, he felt he might as well carry on.

"So you are not interested in relationships but you like…eh…the physical aspect of being with another eh…woman…man?"

Mycroft still held his gaze fixed upon his hands, but Greg could see that he was uncomfortable.

He wouldn't have expected this of the older Holmes, he normally was always so smug about himself and even if he might have been interested in men which kind of suggested itself judging by his reaction, Greg would have never thought the other would be embarrassed about it.

"I do sometimes inquire the company of a fit male, yes."

"Gee, no need to be so embarrassed, I mean this is the 21rst Century."

Now the piercing eyes of the other met his.

"I know, it's just not that common for me to talk about something like this.

Don't get me wrong I am not ashamed of my sexual preferences; it is just that while I am quite aware of the fact that it should be a common notion to any, but the company I must keep for my profession is sadly quite antiquated in its view on said topic.

So I have made a habit of not sharing this information with many people, and most certainly not with anyone I would think would talk."

Well that seemed to make sense, nonetheless he felt rather sorry for the younger that he had to hide his sexuality because of a few old bastards that didn't understand that one had no way to choose who he love or took interest in.

"But aren't you practically the British government? I mean, aren't kind of dependent of what you do? Shouldn't you care a shit about what they think?"

Again a smile ghosted upon the other man's features.

"First of all I might stress that my brother brilliant as he is really likes to exaggerate and that even though no-one seems to listen to me when I declare that I in fact only hold a small office than again it is not only british politicians I work with, and these are not dependent on me at all.

Let me put it like this: Everything runs more smoothly this way and honestly I do not feel the need to change it.

Ah, it seems like we arrive at your place. It was a nice little chat with you Detective Inspector, although with some unexpected turns to be frank.

"Eh, yes of course. Sorry for…overreacting and blaming you."

"It's ok. I do know your motivation behind it. I hope in meeting you again soon."

The smile he gave Greg was real and the older took the other man's hand, then smiled back pushed himself off the expensive and to tell the truth exquisitly soft leatherseat and got off the car.

When the black Jaguar had driven away he still stood there and marveled.

That was peculiar although he found that that had been his first pleasant conversation with Mycroft Holmes ever.

Well pleasant for Holmes' standards.

* * *

From now on the action will pck on rather quickly I guess, I feel up to it the next chapter might even proof itself to be rated M for a good reason. At least it will be a bit smutty ;D

Oh an btw please leave a review if you enjoyed this story or didn't enjoy in fact.

I always hope to improve.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N:

Hey, so as I promised this chapter has a little smut in it, nothing to 'bad', though.

Also thanks to beccabrrr for having a look at this chapter and helping me change a few things so it's better english now :D

* * *

A deep raspy moan filled the room, echoing in quite an unnatural way, and Greg noticed that the sound had passed from his own lips.  
He opened his eyes to be greeted with a smug grin and piercing blue eyes.  
"My, my Gregory, I wouldn't have expected you to be the vocal type."  
He could feel a blush forming on his cheeks, although he knew it didn't make much of a difference; his body seemed so heated already that he must have been flushed all over.  
He had never been 'the vocal type,' though. It just seemed he couldn't help it this time.  
"What the …?"

Just then he felt a sudden jolt of pleasure, and while tossing his head back breathlessly, he realized that the other man had touched that hidden spot inside of him, which could only mean he was penetrated by his...fingers. Yes, fingers, he thought.  
He looked down his body, and his assumptions were proven to be right.  
He could see the other's hand being positioned at his entrance, and the delicate feeling that spread in him, even though the other didn't move, was quite overwhelming.

"That was not by any means a request to stop making noises." Fine eyebrows were raised and Greg could see the tip of a tongue wetting reddish lips. Just when he wanted to start talking, though, he felt another hand touch his cock at the same moment the little bundle of nerves inside of him was hit again.  
"Fuck!"

Greg woke to the sound of his alarm, his hand already on the off button. He sat in his bed for a moment truly disorientated, while the images of his dream flooded his mind. Frowning, he tried to blink them away, but they were distressingly persistent. He ran his fingers through his short silver hair, and a muffled sound could be heard.  
Fuck! This was no good.  
The D I fell back onto his bed and lay his arm over his eyes, as if not seeing anything would make him invisible. His throat and lips were dry and he licked them, just to be reminded of his dream again.  
What the hell had happened? How on earth did his mind come up with such crap?

He could feel his heart still beating too rapidly, and his skin against the bed sheets was damp with sweat, but most frustrating of all was the throbbing of his cock.  
Since when did he have wet dreams about men? Since when did he have wet dreams of…Mycroft Holmes?  
It was funny how during his dream he had never seen the entire face of the younger man, but still he was dead certain it was the older Holmes he had been dreaming of.  
Greg wasn't quite sure if he should be angry with himself, or laughing at his fucked up imagination.  
Having one, ONE nice chat with the other, and learning that the other preferred male company, just shouldn't be enough for something like this to happen. Did he, in some twisted way, fancy the redhead? After all, this had been quite an explicit dream. Also he had never expected to long for penetration when he fantasized about sex with another man (which he admittedly had done every once in a while). He had never felt the urge for that.  
In the end none of his experiences with other men had been that pleasant so he had always been sure that he preferred women.

Either way, he had to do something about his all-too-tight pyjama bottoms, so he got up and made his way to the shower.  
When he stepped in, he even considered getting rid of his problem in a more pleasant way, but then, shaking his head vigorously, he came to his senses and decided to have a cold shower.  
There was no way he could ever do something like that while still having the images of his dream floating around in his head. He was quite sure he literally could not meet the older Holmes and look him in the eye, if he did.  
Even though the younger man might not brag about his ability to deduce certain things as much as Sherlock had, he was still most certainly able to find a way of knowing that Greg had had such a dream and later on jerked off to it.  
Come to think of it, Sherlock might even be the bigger problem.  
Hell, if he ever found out, he would probably be disgusted and never stop talking about it, no matter who might be around.  
Greg's skin was flushed from drying off and trying to get warm. He pulled on his dressing gown and stepped into the living room. His feet left behind wet footprints, but he didn't care, he was just glad to feel the comfortable warmth of the sun-heated rug on his skin.  
This was going to be a long day.

It was a good thing he didn't know how right he would be.  
Shortly after arriving at the yard, his team was called out to a particularly brutal murder, and on the way to the crime scene, he earned half a dozen concerned looks from Sally, letting him know he looked as bad as he felt.  
"Everything alright, Sir?" she asked, when he had to step aside and calm down after seeing his most filthy and gory scene in years.  
He might have been used to the sight of corpses and, let's say, creatively killed and tortured bodies, but the day had started anything but well and he didn't feel up to investigating a place that could have starred in any bad horror movie.  
He sighed in resignation. "Yes, I'm fine; I just need a few secs."  
Sally looked as convinced as he was with his statement, but went back to her place anyway. "Okay, just let me know if there is anything wrong."  
Greg was grateful that Sally didn't insist on his being unwell. As mean and nearsighted as she might have been concerning Sherlock, she wasn't a bad person.  
Not that he would name her for the Nobel Peace Prize or anything, but they did get along somehow. In fact all of his colleagues were ok, more or less. Even Anderson could be kind of nice, if he wanted to.

Greg decided that he had had enough time getting some fresh air and walked back into the building. He was met with a stocky young Sergeant, white as a sheet, who handed him a note:

'I would say, this is probably a shock to you, but then again I know John has already told you. So for the record I'm not dead.  
Contact my brother if you want some help with this case, he will convey all information to me.  
Also I'm disappointed in your observational skills, to think I might have thought they had improved over time, but as always you see but don't observe.  
SH'

Greg's eyes grew wide with surprise and he turned toward the young man who had given him the note. "Who gave this to you?" he demanded, shaking him roughly by the shoulders.  
"I… I'm not sure. If I didn't know better, I would say it was Sherlock Holmes."  
"Are you sure about this?"  
"Sir, you're hurting me…"  
The D I let go of the younger man. In his excitement he had hadn't noticed and now felt rather guilty.  
"I'm sorry…just tell me what you saw."  
"Well, the man looked like those photos; he's been in the papers for quite some time, hasn't he? But he's dead?!"  
"I don't know," Greg answered, before he ran off.  
"Oh, and his hair, it was different…"  
But Greg wasn't paying attention to the Sergeant anymore. If he was lucky he could still catch up with the younger Holmes. The thought of having to see or speak with Mycroft again so soon was anything but soothing, so he hoped he could speak with Sherlock first.  
He hurried past Sally and Anderson, who had apparently decided to have their lunch.  
"Have you seen him?" Greg asked breathlessly, as the two watched him open-mouthed.  
"Who?"  
"Sherlock! Argh, forget it, I'll miss him if I wait until the two of you can bring yourselves to answer."  
He could feel Sally's concerned gaze as he hurried on.

Sadly, Sherlock was nowhere to be found.  
Well there was no way around it then. He had to talk to Mycroft. It was childish to act like this anyway. He was thinking about how he could contact the older Holmes, when he came up with a much better idea.  
There was no way Sherlock hadn't gotten in touch with John, if he had even shown up at a crime scene…


End file.
